


Under Twin Moons

by KaitanISB021



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Lasan, Lothal, Onderon, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Redemption, Saw Gerrera's Lasat mercenary, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, The Force, Yavin 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 21:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10579962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaitanISB021/pseuds/KaitanISB021
Summary: He knew it would happen eventually.The escape from Pryce on Thrawn’s ship, the rescue by the rebels; he knew it was a temporary reprieve.....





	

**Author's Note:**

> No direct parallels with anything or anyone intended. Just patterns and echoes across a universe, maybe. :)

He knew it would happen eventually.

The escape from Pryce on Thrawn’s ship, the rescue by the rebels; he knew it was a temporary reprieve. The rebels didn’t seem to know this, but that was to be expected. Everyone was so proud—as they rightly should have been—to have saved him from a certain death at the hands of the Empire, of Thrawn. And he appreciated it, he truly did; he couldn’t thank them enough for risking themselves repeatedly on his behalf, and did so whenever he could. So often that it made some of his friends uncomfortable, made Zeb scratch his neck and huff, made Ezra mumble. Hera just nodded respectfully. Kanan, Kanan of all of them knew something else was behind his compulsion to express his gratitude, to make sure they knew how much he appreciated their efforts. That Kallus had no illusions. Not a death wish…no, not that. A knowledge, an acceptance. 

After the rebels regrouped on Yavin 4, the rebels quickly assimilated him—he, after all, wasn’t the first Imperial defector in their ranks, as Garazeb repeatedly pointed out, as if that would make everything better—and put him to work. He was thankful for that, for the work. He wanted to do the most for his new friends in the time that remained to him. He was debriefed on Imperial intel, and then worked with the rebel commanders on a new plan for the attack on Lothal. He worked hard, slept little, put everything into the rebellion that he could. When he stumbled to the Ghost late at night, dark circles under his eyes, Hera would pat him on the back and order him to his bunk. Zeb would make him eat. Ezra would try to joke with him. And Kanan. Kanan would just turn his face to him and give him a look that was hard for others to decipher, that spoke to Kallus alone. It gave him strength, in a strange way, to know that someone understood without being told.

Kallus knew. He knew that his days were numbered. He knew that Thrawn and Pryce, for different reasons, would never stop until he was in their hands again—Thrawn, for tactical reasons, and Pryce, for vengeance. 

And it all came crashing down during the attack on Lothal. The Ghost crew survived, escaped, but it was a spectacular failure for the rebellion. The pain of the failure was what hit Kallus hardest. He wanted to help the rebellion. He had worked so hard. But yet again, his plans came to nothing.

He wasn’t entirely prepared for the irony that faced him today, however. Not to hear Governor Pryce facing the citizens of Lothal on Empire Day and asking which rebel prisoner would live and which would die. Not for the choice she presented them: his life or that of the Lasat prisoner Baraseb. The Lasat who had killed Kallus’s men on Onderon and let him live.

They chose Baraseb to live.

And why wouldn’t they, really? As Pryce smiled and asked the crowd if they were sure (she was no fool; she would not release the Lasat to them, just keep him alive), Kallus chuckled. At the cosmic absurdity. Or was it….appropriateness?

This Baraseb, whose name sounded far too close to Garazeb….he was a Lasat. For all the atrocities that Baraseb had commited, Kallus could probably match them. Exceed them. Just with Lasan. Kallus deserved this fate, really, despite everything. For what he had done before. There was no making up for it, no, not really. He knew that. Always had known.

It was dark when they tied him to the post and the Deathtroopers—of course, Deathtroopers; they at least had decent aim—took their positions. Dark except for the twinkling city lights and the light of Lothal’s moons.

Pryce faced him with a smug, self-satisfied smile, and asked whether the rebel had any last words.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

And all at once, the failure on Lothal fell away. All at once, what came to him was not the failure, the battles, the mistakes. What came to him, bright as the light of Lothal’s moons, was something else. The glow of the meteorite Zeb had given him, the feeling of being caught as he tumbled to his certain death on Bahryn. The face of the young padawan who came to rescue him. The hand on his shoulder, the hand of a man he had stood by and watched be tortured, thanking him for his sacrifice, his willingness to die. His own hand held out to Zeb, to Ezra, to innumerable others since that fateful day on the ice moon. All of these images and more—every touch, smile, kind word—joined together around him, connected him to every good thing, and burned brighter than the twin moons, the stars, any light he had ever seen with his eyes. 

He understood, and he opened his eyes.

And he smiled. At all of them. Pryce, the Deathtroopers, the citizens gathered to watch. 

He smiled, and he spoke his final words with all of the strength and love he could muster.

“May the Force be with you.”


End file.
